


All tattoos have meaning

by 2W_NikiAngel



Series: Birthday Fanfictions Project [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Kink Discovery, M/M, Mutual Pinning, Not Beta Read, Smut, Tattoos, Virgin Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2W_NikiAngel/pseuds/2W_NikiAngel
Summary: He never fell in love with someone with a perfect body, others always came too thin or too fat or too unworked. But Enjolras didn't care. He didn’t look at them as the object of his desire, but of the love that made everything perfect for his partner. And Grantaire was the body of a man whom others would call normal and nothing special, until Enjolras saw the damn tattoo. He had something on his shoulder that he didn't recognize, and something he didn't understand shot out from under his pants on his left hip. But both were painted in black ink. It fit him perfectly. The tattoo stood out on his pale skin and complemented his mischievous smile. Enjolras's knees shaked for the first time and he had to grab the chair he had been leaning on for another half hour. He tried to see Grantaire as a friend and not perceive at times the strange desire to ask him where he was tattooed, hoping to strip naked and let him circle every shape with his fingertips.[Český originální text/Czech original]
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, mention of - Relationship, past - Enjolras/Feuilly, past - Enjolras/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Birthday Fanfictions Project [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917910
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	All tattoos have meaning

**Author's Note:**

> The year 2020 is, I dare say, a really crazy ride for most of us. Although I tried to avoid the chaos around me and keep my typical, positive attitude, the year itself caught up with me at the beginning of the summer, and only now could I rest. Illness, family issues and much more that took my energy and desire to write.
> 
> But today I can finally say that the first Birthday Fanfiction Project is done and I hope you enjoy the results! Thank you all for your support!

“Guys, thank you so much for your help, I don’t know what I would do without you,” Marius said as he placed another piece of package in the hallway, in which something was clinking.

“Anything for my brother,” Courfeyrac said as he helped Cosette with other packages of various flowers sticking out.

“If I only knew,” Marius whispered to himself, scratching his hair.

“No one could have guessed that, love,” Cosette said sweetly, kissing her —  _ now _ — husband on the cheek. Marius blushed immediately.

“Children, keep it for the evening,” Courfeyrac said with a smile.

“Or until we put the bed together,” Jehan suggested as he brought another piece of boxes.

“It will take too long,” Marius complained. He blushed right away. “Well, that's not what I meant — well—”

“We know what you meant Marius,” Courfeyrac laughed, patting his friend on the shoulder a few times. Marius bit his lip and Cosette laughed at his innocent, red face. She had to kiss him again. She loved him so much! Even as they said goodbye on their first date, she returned home in his sweatshirt, because after three minutes he managed to pour his iced coffee on her white T-shirt; she knew she would marry him one day. And she was right - a week ago they returned from their honeymoon in Tokyo and moved into their own house. She was incredibly happy. He had to keep smiling. She was about to kiss him on the mouth when his cell phone rang. Marius grunted in displeasure, apologized, and went outside to make a phone call. “I really love him,” she whispered when she saw him wave his arms around him and talk over the phone about something she hadn’t heard.

“You two are so sweet. I'll probably get diabetes from you.” Courfeyrac grabbed his t-shirt around his heart and leaned against Cosette. “It's already here, I'm dying of an overdose of love.”

“Oh, come on,” she laughed as she pushed him away, and the brunette just laughed.

“He’s right tho,” Grantaire said, bringing the last box into the room. “I also wanted to vomit a few times at the wedding, but I managed to swallow it.”

“Wasn't it more of the alcohol you drank there?” Enjolras asked as he leaned against the door and the brunette looked at him indignantly.

“That’s so mean, sir! I know my limit!”

“Yeah, so that's why I need to pull you out from a scarf every week?”

“It happened only twice, Mr. Bahorel!” He pointed angrily at a friend who was just grinning at him. “And I suggest you stop talking about it.”

“Why tho? It reminded me of once you got drunk, I took the blonde wig and you thought I—”

“Enough!” Grantaire jumped to his feet. “I know a lot of dirty secrets about you too, so stop here or wait for a war, buddy!”

“Oh, boys, calm down.” Jehan stood between them and looked at them scoldingly. “You will fill their new house with negative energy.”

“Wait, we're only proving our friendship with this,” Grantaire protested.

Bahorel just nodded. “Yeah, the fact that we sometimes beat each other outside the ring or stick our tongues down to each other throats only strengthens our friendship.”

“Disgusting,” said Jehan, preferring to leave them. Grantaire and Bahorel just laughed.

“Impossible!” Everyone looked at the door. Marius came back, looking overwhelmed. As if someone had just told him that his marriage with Cosette wasn’t valid. His face was red and his hands were shaking.

“What happened?” Cosette asked cautiously, walking over to him. She took him by the shoulders and pulled him to her chest. Only now was it really clear that the brunette was a little taller than her husband. Marius always felt a little uncomfortable about it, but every time she hugged him like that and he felt her warmth, he felt more protected. And he liked the feeling.

“You won't believe it.” He looked into her face and looked unhappy. “Now they called me about the pool, saying that their cat doesn't work and they cannot come.”

“Cat?” Jehan asked.

“How does that relate to the pool?” Courfeyrac asked.

“A  _ cat  _ is slang for a small excavator digging foundations on smaller plots or inaccessible places,” Cosette told him, looking at the other boys who looked like they heard it for the first time in their lives. “Am I the only man here?” She asked, blinking in surprise.

“If Feuilly was there, he would have known,” Bahorel said, and everyone just nodded.

“It doesn't matter,” she said, looking back at the man in her arms. “So when will they arrive?”

“Two months at the earliest. Oh, I’m so angry!” Marius pursed his lips, and if his friends weren't around them, he'd kick the ground too. At times, he still behaved like a small child. “It's so hot outside and we won't have a place to bathe all summer. I was looking forward to going swimming every day and having a barbecue party on the weekends.”

“Wow, Marius, you surprise me,” Courfeyrac said excitedly, walking over to the embracing couple. Being the tallest of the three, he hugged them this time. “Look, it occurred to me to help you with these things here - I'm very good at painting and moving, and  _ design  _ is my middle name—”

“—It’s Jerome,” Enjolras corrected him.

"—Dear friend, shut up, please,” the brunette protested, and Enjolras just rolled his eyes. “—But for example, Mr. Bahorel likes physical work here, and we all know that since his favorite gym is closed, he's been unbearable because he's got a lot energy and aggressive instinct stuck in him.”

“I don’t,” Bahorel said indignantly, and the others looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

“Last time you wanted to beat up a worker in the store because they didn't have your favorite potato flavor,” Grantaire said, laughing at the memory of their shopping together.

“They told me they would give me bacon instead of my favorite garlic one. Bacon!”

Courfeyrac continued, “So what if we took care of it?”

“Like digging it up by yourself?” Marius asked in disbelief. “That's a lot of work. The hole must be really deep.”

“We're experts at depth and holes,” Grantaire said proudly, and Enjolras made a disgusted sound. “But we'll probably leave out Enjolras.”

“Why?” Enjolras asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Because you have problems with your blood pressure in summer and I know you’re fainting from overheating. I think your heart wouldn’t be pleased at you by standing all day outside.” Enjolras half-opened his mouth. Little did he know that Grantaire knew something like that about him. Although he sometimes fainted in the Musain café, where they usually met, but they never talked about it together. It surprised him. In kind way. “And also because you'll never be an expert on holes.” The brunette stuck his tongue out at him, and the warm feeling Enjolras had on his chest was gone that morning.

“Let's skip this,” Bahorel said, focusing on the couple beside his right. “I take it. It will be hard work, but I don't have much to do right now. They're doing new electricity at work now, so I won't be there in a week and a half.”

Grantaire raised his hand. “I don’t have exams, so I only have work to do, and since the number of my clients is zero, I think I'll be more useful here.”

“Me not,” Jehan said, looking guiltily at his friends in front of him. “I can't do much physical work. But I'm happy to knit new curtains for you!”

“I'm counting on you, Jean,” Cosette said honestly, breaking free of Courfeyrac's grip. “I've seen your new work, it's really precise.”

“Thank you!” Jehan shouted with enthusiasm.

“All right,” Bahorel said. “So where do we start?”

Cosette, Courfeyrac, and Jehan remained in the main room, which was to serve as the living room. The walls were already painted, the floor was laid, and from the ceiling carried a rather rare piece of the crystal chandelier they had received from Valjean as a wedding gift. Together, they put the cabinets together, assembled the shelves, and tried to figure out why they always had a few screws and nuts left that they had nowhere to put.

Joly and Marius decided to paint the hall together. Although so far they seemed to have more paint on them than on the walls.

Bahorel and Grantaire carried the heaviest boxes to the future bedroom. After an hour, Feuilly arrived, returning from work, and immediately offered to help dig the pool. Even though Cosette and Marius tried to persuade him that he had enough time for that and he should mainly rest, the redhead just smiled brightly at them and told them that he would be happy to do it for them. So Bahorel, Grantaire, and Feuilly disappeared into the garden. At the beginning, Bossuet joined them, but after the third kick, he cut himself in the knee with a shovel, until blood was sprayed from all the way from the wound. Just then, Combeferre arrived and treated his wound immediately. Then, when Bossuet looked closely at the wound, his head spun and he vomited over Combeferre’s shirt. Combeferre, tired from medical practice in the children's ward, where  _ these  _ accidents became the order of the day, said quietly, “I'm done. I'm going to study economics.”

Enjolras was the only one in the bathroom. Although Cosette asked him if he didn't mind, he said with a smile -  _ no _ . Although he loved his friends, sometimes he needed to be alone for a while. He'd been spending a lot of time with them lately, and even though he'd always felt a little guilty, he'd liked it when he got home, pulled down the blinds, and could sit on the couch in silence without someone shouting in his ear, still asking him questions, or wanting to discuss current events with him. He felt calm and rested, as he assembled the cabinets and straightened various hygiene products into them.

“Enjolras?” The blond looked at the door where Jehan stood, holding a pot of pansies. “There are two more downstairs, will you bring them, please?”

“Sure,” he said immediately, walking downstairs for the last two pots. When he returned to the bathroom, the balcony door was open. Jehan came out of them and smiled fondly at him. Enjolras returned the smile and entered the balcony. He placed the flower pots on the railing and began to carefully assemble them so that they wouldn’t fall down.

As he tied the last knot, he looked in front of him. From the balcony he could see the whole garden. The large ground was so far only grassy. In the middle, however, the foundations already stood for the future sitting with a grill. Next to it were a couple of benches and a parasol pulled out, under which Bossuet sat and slept while Combeferre fanned him with a newspaper. Combeferre, disguised in one of Marius' T-shirts, which was a little narrow and short for him, read a thick book with lots of colored bookmarks. He was probably learning for another important exam. He had been much more quiet than usual lately. But he always smiled at everyone, didn’t miss meetings and was able to take time off for his friends in his busy schedule. Everyone admired him for it, but they were also nervous about how tired he was.

He looked down a short distance from them, where three of their friends were working. Bahorel kept yelling about how  _ Xandra is freaking stupid that she didn't want to date him _ , while Feuilly kept laughing at him, noting that  _ he wasn't exactly a good choise for dating _ . Bahorel poked Feuilly several times, and he always staggered. But the smile on his face never disappeared.

He was about to return to the bathroom when his gaze went a little lower. Grantaire worked a little further away. Despite his noisy, sarcastic nature, he was silent and focused on work. Of all three, he did the most work. The pile of dirt to his right could already be called a heap. Each time he dug a spade into the ground, he stepped on it and expertly pulled out a full batch of clay and tossed it side by side; Enjolras swallowed loudly. He noticed the older of them sweating. His cheeks were faint red, as were his ears. His forehead was sweaty. His neck gleamed, with a rose-shaped starfish tattooed on it. The veins in his hands were swollen. At times he tossed the hair that fell to his forehead and stuck to his skin. Grantaire ran his dirty hand through his hair, trying to smooth them back. His long-sleeved T-shirt pulled up a little, and Enjolras could see the muscles on his stomach and the path of short hair that slowly led to the edge of his pants, under—

“Enjolras?” Enjolras winced. He turned to the door where Jehan stood. He looked in the same direction as Enjolras, and smiled. “When you're done with your  _ work _ , will you help me bring the boys a drink? They're in the sun all day and Joly's going crazy about it.”

Enjolras just nodded and quickly went around Jehan so he wouldn't see his cheeks flush. Still, Jehan noticed. He looked once more at Grantaire, who was wiping his sweaty forehead with a T-shirt and mumbling something to himself softly. He smiled and went downstairs with Enjolras, who was already taking a tray of homemade lemonade from Cosette. Jehan took another and entered the garden with Enjolras. “Today is so beautiful!” The redhead shouted enthusiastically, but immediately went to hide under an umbrella. The sun was shining really hard today.

“Thank you,” Bahorel said enthusiastically, taking one glass in his hand and drinking it in one breath. He exhaled contentedly and said, “I  _ fucking _ love it!”

“Do you kiss your mother with those mouths?” Feuilly said indignantly, putting his hand dramatically on his chest. “I’m shocked.”

“You're getting worse than Grantaire,” Bahorel complained, his mouth pursed. This childish expression didn’t really suit his very dominant to his tall, elaborate figure and overall charisma. But Feuilly couldn't deny that he looked cute. Almost like a kicked puppy. He must have laughed at the idea of Bahorel with dog ears and a tail tucked between his legs.

“Do I hear anyone praising me here?” Grantaire asked with a smile as he took a glass from the tray and drank some. He grinned. “Lots of water, little of wine,” he muttered.

“How unexpected,” Enjolras said softly as he sat down next to Combeferre and handed him a glass. The brown haired boy thanked him quietly, but his eyes still focused on the book in front of him. The blond began scratching his back inconspicuously so that the others wouldn’t see it. Combeferre loved it, during the year they lived together before they both saved up money for their own apartments; he was able to sit in the evenings next to Combeferre, watch a movie with him and scratch his back. It was a habit he couldn't get rid of. Combeferre shook gently, goosebumps on his skin, but Enjolras noticed the smile that spread across his face. It was a quiet  _ thank you _ .

“But it's really awfully hot today,” Bahorel said, tearing off his tight T-shirt with one experienced pull. He sniffed at it, grinned in disgust, and threw it to the ground. “It's not even worth washing, I'll burn it right away.”

“So that's how you're going to look in the bus on your way home?” Feuilly asked with a laugh.

“Look at those muscles!” Bahorel clenched the muscles at his hands, which were already har, and thanks to the work, there were a few protruding veins that glistened with sweat. He looked like he was anointed with oil. This time it was Jehan who swallowed loudly. He had always had a weakness for beautifully built figures - both males and females - and Bahorel was making it very difficult for him now. He had an irresistible desire to touch them. “I'll go for free.”

“I want to see it,” Feuilly said, setting the glass on the tray. “May I be there when the driver laughs at you?”

“Ten euros, I can do it!”

“Deal!” They both shook hands and laughed. They both said once that they weren’t even friends, but brothers. They kept arguing, competing and fighting. They were like little boys. “But you're right, it's really awful.” This time it was Feuilly taking off his shirt, and Enjolras was the one who swallowed loudly. He averted his gaze and looked at Combeferre's back, which moved in regular breaths. He tried not to notice how much he wanted to look at Feuilly. It had been three years since he had fallen in love with him; two years after confessing his feelings, and just as long as Feuilly told him he  _ only wanted to be a friend _ . Enjolras took it calmer than he expected. But it took him a long time to take this redhead as another friend. Despite all his efforts, he still had a weakness for him.

Enjolras was about to get up and return to the house when Jehan asked, “What happened to you?” Enjolras looked in the same direction as Jehan. He pointed to Grantaire, who just pulled the sleeves of his long T-shirt up. He had a red scar on his elbow.

“It's just a tattoo,” he replied, shrugging.

“Another?” Enjolras would have sworn on the spot that he had seen Jehan's eyes sparkle with excitement.

“Another?” The blond asked instead.

“Didn't you know I had a tattoo?” The brunette asked in surprise.

“I'd have to be stupid not to see you have some.” He pointed to his neck. Grantaire instinctively touched the tattoo and grinned. It was the most painful thing he had done, and yet he still forgot about it. When people stared at him for a long time, it always occurred to him after a few minutes that it wasn't because of his charisma, his face, or his choice of refined clothes; but thanks to a tattoo that couldn't be hidden.

“And you didn't see what I had under that shirt,” Grantaire said with a mischievous smile, and Enjolras frowned. He didn't like these allusions to him. Then he always started thinking about stupid things. Now, for example, as he got up, he walked over to the brunette and forced him to roll up his T-shirt to his chest, perhaps putting the hem of his T-shirt in his mouth to hold it and mapping the outline of his tattoos with his fingers until he reached the hair path which he had so admired a moment ago, and — Enjolras winced. What the  _ hell  _ was he thinking about? “I'm protecting them.” Grantaire's voice, still smiling at him, interrupted his thoughts and he returned to his work.

“I'm looking forward to seeing the tattoo,” Jehan said dreamily, and Enjolras grumbled softly.

It had been a week since the boys had decided to help Marius and Cosette arrange their house. It had been a week since their laughter had echoed down the street from afternoon to evening. It had been a week since Enjolras had always found a moment to look out the windows and admire the boys who had dug a hole for the pool outside.

Enjolras knew from a young age that he wasn’t attracted to girls. He always found them annoying. He kissed Elizabeth in kindergarten, but only because she promised him ice cream, which he didn't like anyway. In elementary school, the girls’ cute braids left him as cool as the miniskirts and necklines in high school. At first he thought he was simply not interested in anything about the human body. He felt as if the puberty didn’t visit him. When he looked at the boys in the locker rooms and glared at their slow-growing chests, widening hips, or crotches; he was as cold as he was to the girls. He never told anyone, and he was actually glad that nothing distracted him from school and his hobbies.

Everything changed when an exchange student from Turkey entered the first year of high school. His name was Erdal, he was sixteen years old and he had the brightest smile Enjolras had ever seen. He had beautiful caramel skin, eyes so light brown that they were almost yellow, and his hair was black as coal. He was tall, his voice already masculine, and he smelled of dark cologne. Even though it was hot outside, he wore a leather jacket, and always wore a black bracelet, which his mother had knitted as a talisman for good luck. He remembered the moment he first saw him. He sat on the back bench, looking ahead and feeling his mouth dry as he opened it in surprise. As soon as their eyes met, a heat spread in his stomach that he hadn’t known before. He came home that day with a pounding heart and a burning erection.

From then on, he knew he liked boys, but it didn't change how little interest he was in human touch and relationships. The girls may have been annoying, but the boys were unbearable for him. He hated the immature, annoying, and the testosterone odor, often enhanced by a few beers or musk. He was very picky about who he would call a friend and who he would be able to talk to. He liked their small group of friends, whom he respected so much and always admired.

But it was just as difficult for him to find a partner. His crush with Erdel ended at a secret farewell party, where they kissed behind a tree for a few minutes before he became sick of alcohol and vomited his favorite leather jacket. At seventeen, he infatuated into a new teacher, Mr. Petit, who had taught them history — the roots of his black hair were already gray, and deep dimples formed on his cheeks with a smile. He never went beyond a few strange fantasies that included a school uniform and a ruler. At twenty, he had his eyes on Jean, a part-time worker in the coffee shop he'd loved to go to. He decided to tell him more than his order for half a year, until he missed the moment and Jean left the cafe for good.

When he wanted to give up on his relationship, Feuilly appeared on the scene. Enjolras sighed. He looked out the window, where Feuilly and Bahorel were talking about a video game whose name told him absolutely nothing. It wasn't love at first sight, but the moment he saw this redhead between the doors of Musain's cafe, he found something attractive about him. When he found out how educated, smart and kind he was, it drew him to him. And over time, the warmth he felt every time he was with him spilled into all corners of his body, shaking his heart and knees. Without Bossuet's birthday, where everyone got drunk, he would never have told him.

His gaze slid beside him, where Bahorel stood, again without a shirt, and he laughed out loud at something. Enjolras had to admit that his body was the best he had seen in years. Fleshy muscles, broad shoulders, bare chest and developed muscles on the abdomen. His hair was thick and was slowly falling on his shoulders. Although he was the prototype of a man for whom everyone could turn thanks to his body, he didn’t attract Enjolras like that. In fact, he was glad to finally get used to the noise he could make from his lungs and call it an argument or a laugh.

But Grantaire on the other hand… Enjolras looked at the other side. The brunette was sitting under a tree, smoking a cigarette, holding a cell phone in his hand and still frowning over something. Their relationship was -  _ strange _ . At least they agreed to call it that. When they could finally breathe the same air in the room as the other and not quarrel within five minutes; they took it as a success. After five years of knowing each other, they got used to each other and  _ something  _ emerged between them. They said they were friends, but neither of them felt that way. They liked each other, yes. But it was on the verge of something they were both afraid of. Perhaps because he knew how all his relationships had turned out. And Grantaire? It was a mystery to everyone. It was an open secret that Grantaire liked Enjolras. The two of them knew about it too. But neither has ever tried any more than a few friendly touches and hugs at celebrations. On the contrary, the big secret was that Grantaire wasn’t indifferent to Enjolras either. But unlike the brunette, he managed to hide his affection so masterfully that he sometimes asked himself how he really felt about him.

Maybe it was desire, maybe just curiosity. Grantaire was the type of man who never attracted him. Or so he thought. At first he thought he was only cheeky, his irony and sarcasm lifted his pressure, and in fact he was sometimes even louder than Bahorel, which was suffering for his sensitive hearing. But only after a while did he realize that the reason he was so irritated by him was his cleverness. A general overview that Enjolras admired and always wanted to master. And although Enjolras was clever, Grantaire was smarter. But no one could see his clever remarks, everyone remembered him more as the funny, drunk, high Grantaire who wouldn't spoil any fun. And perhaps the moment Enjolras understood how clever Grantaire was, how talented, sensitive, and selfless he was; at that moment he realized that he liked him.

Grantaire stretched, and his T-shirt going higher than normal. It revealed a piece of abdomen and back that Enjolras could examine. He swallowed dry.

And then there was the tattoo thing. He had never had anything specific to excite him - such as for Courfeyrac making love in public, for Combeferre dominance over his partner, for Joly play as a doctor and patient (no one understood how someone like him could study medicine without getting excited at any moment) , for Bossuet playing the cops and the prisoners, for Bahorel round asses of his partners, for Feuilly getting scratched to the point his back was bleeding, and for Grantaire the loud moaning of his lover - until he first saw Grantaire without a T-shirt. He never fell in love with someone with a perfect body, others always came  _ too  _ thin or  _ too  _ fat or  _ too  _ unworked. But Enjolras didn't care. He didn’t look at them as the object of his desire, but of the love that made everything perfect for his partner. And Grantaire was the body of a man whom others would call  _ normal  _ and  _ nothing special _ , until Enjolras saw the damn tattoo. He had something on his shoulder that he didn't recognize, and something he didn't understand shot out from under his pants on his left hip. But both were painted in black ink. It fit him perfectly. The tattoo stood out on his pale skin and complemented his mischievous smile. Enjolras's knees shaked for the first time and he had to grab the chair he had been leaning on for another half hour. He tried to see Grantaire as a friend and not perceive at times the strange desire to ask him where he was tattooed, hoping to strip naked and let him circle every shape with his fingertips.

Enjolras shivered. He returned to reality. Grantaire was no longer under the tree. He worked with Feuilly while Bahorel sprawled on a blanket and read comics. How long had he been looking at Grantaire? Did he notice that?

“Enjolras?” The blond looked at Combeferre, who appeared beside him, a box of books in his hand. “Will you help me put them in the bedroom?”

“Sure.” He took the other box in his hands and went up the stairs.

By the time everyone met in the living room in half an hour to have a delicious lunch that Musichetta had brought them from work, Grantaire was gone.

“Hi,” Enjolras smiled at Feuilly, who was standing in front of the door to his apartment, smiling from ear to ear. 

“Come in,” Enjolras said, dodging so Feuilly could come in.

“Wow,” Feuilly said admiringly as he looked around the apartment. “It looks perfect here.”

“After the dormitory and the attic apartment, everything looks like a kingdom.” Half an year ago, the apartment was inhabited by a couple who decided on their old knees to move to the countryside and travel around the world. Before that, Enjolras had lived in the dormitory with Combeferre for a year, until they both found their own apartments. Enjolras then lived for two years in an attic apartment, where the main door creaked too much, the windows opened too stiffly, the neighbors were too loud, and too often he hit himself in the head on the beam between the table and the bed. But it was  _ his first apartment _ . He loved it. But he knew it wouldn't be permanent, and after years he decided he needed something bigger. When he saw the couple's offer, he immediately wrote to them, made an appointment with them the next day, and signed a sales contract with them that evening. He moved in a week. It took him a long time to settle down and even more to decorate everything the way he wanted, but finally, after half a year, he could call it his  _ home _ .

They both entered the balcony, where Enjolras prepared a small table with chairs and a bottle of wine. Feuilly leaned against the railing and looked down. Enjolras lived on the top, eighth floor. It had a wonderful view of the park with a fountain, a playground, a bakery and a university where veterinary medicine was taught. One of his first loves, which he had in Paris, went there. He just smiled dreamily at the memory of the innocent Annette.

The sun was setting and slowly turning the city to a deep orange color. It was still quite hot, but a gentle breeze was blowing. It was finally starting to live in the streets. People were right when they called Parisians a  _ night birds _ . Feuilly turned to Enjolras, who was opening the wine and pouring some for both of them. “Would you like some?” The redhead asked as he pulled a transparent bag from his pocket, in which he had two joints rolled up. “From Jehan. Spring harvest.”

“Yes please,” he said truthfully.

After two glasses of wine and half a joint, Feuilly looked at Enjolras and asked, “So what's going on?”

Enjolras had his head resting on the windowsill, staring at the sky, beginning to count all the stars that appeared in the light blue sky along with the glowing full moon. “It's actually quite… bizarre, if I should call it that.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It's possible…” He frowned. He had no idea what end he should take his story from. It was all new to him. “Is it possible that after years you find out you have a kink for something?”

Feuilly raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess so. Like, you're not born knowing you're attracted to busty girls. That will somehow come in puberty. Or after you start liking porn. Or after experience. Do you think I always thought I would like it when a girl wore cat ears? No. But once I accompanied Bahorel to a comic book festival, and that evening I knew I would have to buy them in stock.”

Enjolras laughed. “Interesting.”

“They certainly would suit you.” Enjolras looked at Feuilly and blinked innocently. “Yeah, like this. If you blinked so innocently and had those big, white ears with blue bows I have at home…” He exhaled happily another puff of smoke. Enjolras blushed at the thought.

“Maybe,” the blond whispered.

“Are you flirting with me?” Feuilly asked with a laugh.

“No,” said Enjolras, preferring to look ahead, trying to find something interesting among the wood in the railing so as not to look into the face of his friend, whose rays of the setting sun and rising moon painted all the freckles on his face that seemed so cute. Thanks to the effect of marijuana, he found them even more radiant, bigger and  _ sweeter _ . “It's been a long time.”

“I wasted a pretty big chance, didn't I?” Feuilly asked with a laugh.

“Sure,” Enjolras said with pride in his voice. He looked at Feuilly again, and after staring into each other's eyes, they laughed out loud. “I'm sorry,” the blond said, tapping his foot nervously on the ground. “That was really stupid, I’m not good in this.”

“No, I liked the way you tried to be over the thing.” He pulled off another joint again and laughed. “It looked like you had just grown up in front of me.”

“Feuilly,” Enjolras whispered his name as nervously and cautiously as if afraid he would scold him for it. “Don't say that.” Feuilly remembered that on the day Enjolras confessed to him — two years ago, at that stupid Bossuet birthday party, after those stupid four beers and two margaritas, on that stupid balcony where he talked and wanted to kiss him all night - he told him the same thing.  _ You've grown up. _ As if it were a compliment, a strange excuse for not being with him anymore. That there are no more boys to do as stupid things as loving each other.  _ Unnecessary drama that would one day tear the group apart. _ This is how Jehan once described it in his poem. Even though he didn't name them, they both knew it was about them.

“I'm sorry,” Feuilly said seriously, reaching out to Enjolras. He touched his ear and adjusted the strand of hair that fell to his forehead. “So what's going on?” He asked him again.

“I already told you.” He tilted his head so that his fingers sank even harder into his forehead.

“Is that all?” He asked cautiously.

“For now.” He reached for the joint that held Feuilly between his fingers. He never really liked marijuana, but whenever someone offered it to him, he didn't turn it down. In fact, he had no idea why. Maybe then he just felt more like a  _ human being _ , like  _ normal people _ who also smoke. “I've seen it a thousand times. Several times. On a few people, on a lot of people, on TV, in magazines, in photos, on billboards, in porn. And nothing.” He blew out another puff of smoke. “And suddenly, after so many years since I know him, it makes me feel  _ something _ ? I still need to watch it? And there's nothing I can do about it? And sometimes... I  _ do something _ and then I don't know what to think about it?”

“You jerk off by the idea of Grantaire?" Enjolras looked at Feuilly, who just smiled smartly at him. He buried his fingers even more in his hair and began stroking them. The blond closed his eyes happily. He loved it when someone played with his hair. “You really grew up,” he laughed, and before the younger could protest, he continued, “Wouldn't it be because you like him?”

Enjolras opened his eyes and frowned. “ _ Like him _ ?” Feuilly just grunted in agreement and tugged gently at the strands of hair. Enjolras hissed unhappily. “I don't think I like him.”

“What did you think of me when you first saw me?”

“That you're interesting.”

“And what did you think of Grantaire?"

“That the leather jacket suits him, but in those thirty degrees even in the shade he must sweat all over.”

Feuilly chuckled. “How did you feel when you confessed to me?”

“Embarrassing,” Enjolras admitted reluctantly. “I don’t know why. Maybe I was afraid you would laugh. Maybe it was the alcohol and I still realized somewhere in the back of my head that I was doing something stupid.”

“And what do you think you would feel if you confessed to Grantaire?”

“Why would I do that? I don't love him. I like him, yes. Maybe more than a friend.” He paused and thought for a moment. “But it's not love.” His heart jumped, as if telling an unpleasant lie. He had to put his hand on his chest as they began to ache. “Or I don't think so.”

“Why?”

“Because it's different from you.” Feuilly tilted his head to the side as a sign to continue. “Every time I saw you, my heart pounded and I enjoyed spending time with you. I wanted to be alone with you. Sit together in a cafe, go see an exhibition or take a walk in the park. I wanted to talk to you all the time. I still feel that way.”

“And are you sure this is the  _ love  _ you want to have for life?” Enjolras frowned. Was the redhead going to question his feelings? No. He wasn't like that. “Is that what you feel for me really  _ love _ ? Isn't it just a strong understanding? Or the limit of friendship and love of lovers that we will never cross? Jehan once told me about it. He has it the same with one friend. They have known each other since childhood, and no one can break the bond between them. Even though he’s already married and has two children, Jehan still loves him very much, but he cannot call it love, as well as a friendship. And his friend feels the same. He feels something only a few should have. Even so, they behave. But without touch, making love without any physical desire. I think it’s called  _ Platonic Love _ .”

“Platonic love,” Enjolras repeated softly, as if hearing it for the first time.

“I know how happy you are with me. Me too with you.” They both smiled at each other. “But can you imagine anything more?” Without waiting for an answer, the redhead leaned over and kissed Enjolras on the mouth. Enjolras winced. Instinct told him to pull away, but Feuilly's fingers in his hair pressed him even harder against his face. Noses were pressed against each other, and neither of them could breathe. Feuilly's mouth parted and his tongue gently stroked Enjolras's large, pink lips. Enjolras shivered. It's been a long time since they've kissed. Two years ago, Feuilly tasted like tequila and sweat, today like wine and marijuana.

Wine. Grantaire certainly tastes that way. He smoked a lot, but he never smelled like cigarettes. Like if he remembered how much the blonde hated the smell, and every time he talked to him, he poured cologne at him. It was too strong, smelled of wood and burnt paper, and stuck to his skin, but it was better than the smell of cigarettes. Grantaire always drank selected wine, even though he didn't have enough money to eat. Surely he must have tasted much more bitterly than Feuilly after that.

Within seconds, Feuilly pulled away from the blonde, sat back in place, lit a joint, and finally let go of Enjolras's hair. He slowly opened his eyes, as if waking from a dream. He licked his lips with his tongue to wash away the last remnants of Feuilly's taste. “Good?” He asked with a smile, and Enjolras just nodded. “Now tell me what you felt.”

“Your taste.”

“And what were you thinking?”

After a moment of silence, Enjolras just said quietly, “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Feuilly laughed, snapping his fingers. He leaned his head against the windowsill and stared at the stars. The sun had long since set. How long have they been talking? He completely lost track of time.

“I can't tell him,” Enjolras said softly.

“Why not?”

“He's second... from the same group of friends. It's embarrassing, stupid, and it's selfish and completely out of place for me.”

“You care a lot about what's right and what's wrong for others. Think of yourself once too. In addition—” Feuilly took the time to take a dramatic pause, creating several circle clouds by smoke from his mouth. “—How do you think he felt when he heard you confess to me? You were drunk and each of us knows how it turned out between us, but still… Think about it.”

And Enjolras really tried. He thought about it. About his feelings, his own heart, his relationships, what he actually needs. But the more he focused on himself, the more confused he was. He had never paid as much attention to himself as the last month, when he had been able to look out the window for most of the day to make sure he didn't miss another piece of Grantaire’s skin. He was beginning to feel obsessed. What suddenly happened to him, wanting to see him everyday? Have a moment together? Talk about all the nonsense he loved there? He didn't understand.

After a month, they finally finished digging up the pool and helping Marius and Cosette in the house; the newlyweds decided to hold a barbecue party in their new garden. Cosette prepared her delicious pickled meat, Marius took care of the vegetables and homemade baguettes, they both threw some inflatable balls and animals into the pool, which they both loved so much. In addition to the boys, Musichetta was also invited to the party, accompanying Joly and Bossuet, and paying attention to both of them equally; and Éponine, who finally drank her unrequited love for Marius at the wedding and slowly forgot about it. This was probably due to the arms of young Montparnasse, with whom she had met for the past two months. When Gavroche appeared behind her and smiled at them with a missing tooth -  _ “He fought again,” _ Éponine complained as soon as they saw his bruise on his face and a broken knee - Bahorel didn’t forgive to add: “We babysit children now?”

“Shut up, Bahorel.”

“Did you hear that?!” Bahorel shouted dramatically, and Gavroche just stuck his tongue out at him. “Little bastard!” He grabbed his shirt and began arguing with him. Gavroche’s laughter could be heard all the way to the end of the street.

After they played in the pool and everyone sat around the table to eat and drink, Jehan broke the loud swallowing and sipping, of the question, “Has it healed yet?” They all looked in the direction he was pointing. Grantaire had a chop in his mouth, stopped biting it, and raised an eyebrow. “The tattoo, I don't see the red spot anymore.”

Grantaire swallowed a large piece of meat and quickly swallowed it with wine. “Yeah, it's healed."

“Phenomenal! I want to see it!”Jehan shouted excitedly. Enjolras sat up in his place. He didn't want to show that he, too, wondered what the new tattoo looked like. On his perfect, slightly golden skin, which—

“If you must,” Grantaire smiled, rolling his eyes as if it bothered him. At the same time, his smile showed that he was glad to show it. He pulled up his sleeve and showed the others the tattoos he had made above his elbow.

“That's... nice,” Combeferre said in a monotone voice.

“You don’t know how to appreciate art,” Courfeyrac said reproachfully, and Combeferre just shrugged. “Pre-ordered?”

“No, my own suggestion,” Grantaire said proudly, turning his chest slightly. “I know a great tattoo artist who will fulfill my every wish.”

“He’s good at sucking?” Bahorel asked with a laugh.

“Better than you,” Grantaire retorted.

Bahorel was already inhaling that it would pay him back, but Éponine looked at them scoldingly, plugged Gavroche’s ears, and said reproachfully, “Can't you tame yourself in front of a child?” Gavroche said something like  _ I’m not a child anymore _ with his mouth full of meat, but Éponine refused to withdraw her hands from his ears.

“We'll be nice,” they both said at once, blinking innocently.

Jehan suddenly gasped. “Oh my God, oh my God!” He began waving his arms in front of him, as if one of his greatest wishes had come true. “It's me!” Everyone looked at him confused. “It’s so clear!” When no one said anything, Jehan leaned over to Grantaire and ran his finger over the shape of his new tattoo. “Fox. This is my soulmate. I have the most in common with this animal. They are my favorite! It has snakes instead of fur. You know what I have at home, don't you?”

“Don't remind me,” Bossuet said in disgust, remembering all the reptiles Jehan kept in his apartment.

“And these flowers? These are motherworts. My mother's beloved flowers, which she first taught me how to grow.”

“And we're grateful to her for that,” Feuilly said with a fox smile, and Jehan returned the smile. Although he was initially skeptical about growing marijuana, it helped him to cope with stress and panic. Feuilly was in a similar situation.

“What can I say. You’re right,” Grantaire shrugged and Jehan jumped around his neck. “Stop it, or I'll think you fell in love with me.”

“Finally!” Jehan shouted as he pulled away from him. “We're officially  _ friends  _ now.”

Grantaire scratched the younger man in his thick, red hair. “The best for the end.”

“Wait.” Everyone turned to Enjolras, who frowned slightly. “Is that really Jehan?”

“Yes.” Grantaire looked at the tattoo again and smiled slightly. “I'm glad he knew that.”

“Look at his right shoulder, you'll find  _ me  _ there,” Bossuet said proudly.

Joly raised his hand and added to his partner, “And I'm on the left one!”

“R-really?” Enjolras asked in a weak voice, looking at the others in confusion.

“Yeah,  _ Apollo _ , I've tattooed anyone who means anything to me.”

“And where am I?” Bahorel asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I believe I am the most important.”

Grantaire rose dramatically and began unbuckling his trouser belt. “On my ass, because I always destroy yours at box practices.”

Bahorel jumped to his feet, grabbed Grantaire by the arm, and began to fight with him. “You're such a assho—”

“Boys!” Éponine scolded, covering Gavroche’s ears again.

“Excuse me,” Enjolras said suddenly, rising from his seat. He could feel Combeferre stroking his palm. It was a habit he had acquired after living together. Without being able to explain it, they could sense when the other person didn't feel in their skin, when something was wrong, or when they felt insecure. And now Combeferre could feel the goose crawling all over his body and shaking. He could feel something going on with Enjolras. “I’m okay,” the blond whispered, and his friend released him. He knew there was no point in forcing him to speak. Enjolras didn’t reveal anything until he wanted to.

As soon as Enjolras was free, he came to a house where almost everything was done. He went into the kitchen, poured water into an empty glass, and drank it all without breathing. He took a deep breath and leaned one hand against the kitchen counter, the other resting on his heart. Fast, hard beating. He felt as if he wanted to jump out of his chest. He could taste a strange taste in his mouth. His stomach was making him sick. His fingers shook weakly.

Enjolras has already experienced this. He knew this feeling very well. And even though he was ashamed of him, he knew what was happening.

He was jealous.

When Enjolras found out at sixteen that he liked boys, he never thought about what he should like  _ more _ . Every boy, or even the man who caught his eye, was always different. Different age, different skin color, different hairstyle, different behavior, different education. You could almost say that he had no preference. Everyone had to impress him with something.

But he knew only one thing. When he first saw Erdal's tattoo - a small turtle tattooed on his neck - his fingers itched. He wanted to touch the tattoo, ask him why he tattooed it. It was painted in black ink and it was almost invisible beneath his black hair. But Enjolras always found it with his eyes and quietly admired it. On the other hand, Mr. Petit had the tattoo very well hidden. It wasn’t appropriate for teachers to have distinctive tattoos to attract attention. But one summer, when they went to the nearby lake for physical education instead of exercising at the gym, Mr. Petit accompanied them. Even at the age of almost fifty, he still had a good figure, and a long peacock tattoo stretched on his left side. Feathers were painted purple, blue, green and yellow. Enjolras's knees trembled and, as with Erdal, he wanted to touch the tattoo and he had to go sit under a tree. When Mr. Petit followed him — his whole body was wet from the water, his hair clung to his forehead, his swimsuit clung to his crotch, and perfectly outlined what was hiding beneath them — Enjolras thought he was fainting. He had to pull his legs to his body, put his chin on his knees and say that his stomach hurt and he won't swim. It was only half true. His stomach burned, but from the pain that shot into his crotch and demanded a little of attention.

Enjolras knew very well that tattooing was something he liked not only on men, but everyone in general. He liked to look at people who had their bodies decorated with all sorts of patterns, colors and inscriptions. He always wondered what it was like to feel a needle slowly soaking into his skin. Sometimes his whole body itches at the thought.

Therefore, when he first saw Grantaire's tattooed neck, it left him calm. He knew that the brunette was practically obsessed with tattoos and had himself tattooed several times a year, but he never thought, as with others, what it must be like to feel his inky skin under his hands.

He knew when that had changed. The moment he confessed his feelings to Feuilly and tasted his lips, and knew that they never became a couple. The physical reaction went well — his heart was pounding, his lips were shaking, his knees were shaking too, and he felt he couldn't breathe — but he knew mentally that  _ something  _ that everyone should feel when they kissed _ the right one  _ didn't come. Not on his side, but on Feuilly's. He knew it was just an experiment for him, a moment of drunken madness. Enjolras then stood on the balcony for a good half hour, looking at night Paris, examining the full moon overhead, and suddenly feeling the cold on his face. He winced and looked beside him where Grantaire stood, serving him whiskey with ice. Grantaire lit a cigarette, leaning his elbows on the railing. They both drank their drinks quietly side by side. When they had finished, they just smiled slightly at each other and rejoined their friends inside Bossuet's apartment.

Perhaps this was the beginning of when Enjolras noticed that although Grantaire liked all his friends, the attention he paid to him was -  _ different _ . Glimpse accompanied by a smile. Jokes that were aimed directly at him, but unlike others, were never offensive. There were also small things, such as when Grantaire bought Enjolras his favorite candy for his birthday, or when he found an old copy of the  _ First Republic Constitution _ on his desk, which he hadn’t been able to find in any antiquarian for so long; or maybe he always had the magnesium tablets Enjolras needed when he overworked himself and had cramps in his legs.

The moment Enjolras realized all this, he began to look at Grantaire differently. With that, his tattoos began to have an effect on him.

Enjolras groaned softly. He hated that he was as weak as other people. That he has something that can so easily make him lose control. Something as negligible as a  _ tattoo _ . He always felt awkward as soon as he felt pressure in his stomach, redness in his face, and an inability to take a deep breath.

He rolled over on the bed, picked up his phone, and looked at the display. He needed to talk to someone. He found Feuilly's number and send him a message: 

_ Enjolras: [I should start doing something with those feelings.] _

He received an answer within five minutes.

_ Feuilly: [Yes.] _

Enjolras’ eyes check the time. Five minutes after midnight. He sighed. He knew that if he put it off, it would bother him for a few more months. Another few sleepless nights. He had a big exam and preparation for the school practice in the state department. He needed to be calm. He searched for Grantaire's number - and laughed when he found out that they messaged each other five months ago when they had just exchanged their new phone numbers - and wrote to him:

_ Enjolras: [Are you sleeping?] _

He was surprised when the answer came within a few seconds.

_ Grantaire: [Don't you know that artists aren't asleep at this time, but are creating? (read: drinking)] _

Enjolras smiled. He thought for a moment about how to easily get to what interested him most. It shouldn't be hard to ask about his tattoo? Instead, he wrote:

_ Enjolras: [Shouldn't you sleep?] _

_ Grantaire: [You want me to have my beauty sleep, Apollo? Oh, that's nice of you. :3] _

_ Grantaire: [I have the most inspiration at nights, I can't sleep.] _

_ Enjolras: [So I'm interrupting you?] _

_ Grantaire: [You? Never.] _

Enjolras tried not to notice how he shook slightly.

_ Grantaire: [How come you don't sleep?] _

_ I'm thinking about your tattoos and it won't let me sleep _ . Enjolras preferred to quickly erase this true message and wrote instead:

_ Enjolras: [I'm thinking of something only you can probably help me with.] _

_ Grantaire: [This is new!] _

_ Grantaire: [Shouldn't we have a drink then?] _

Enjolras already wanted to say  _ no  _ and end the conversation when Grantaire overtook him:

_ Grantaire: [Sorry, it's my habit to flirt through the cell phone anyway.] _

_ Grantaire: [(Wow, did I really write the word "flirt?" I'm probably with Jehan too often.)] _

Under the mention of their friend's nickname, an unpleasant, burning sensation settled in his stomach. He had to swallow several times to drive it away. He knew the feeling very well, it was the same as it had a few days ago at the Pontmercy's home when Grantaire revealed his tattoo. Which was about  _ Jehan _ . Tattoo about  _ another person _ . Isn't that something like a declaration of love?

Enjolras shook his head and wrote:

_ Enjolras: [What does tattoos mean to you?] _

_ Grantaire: [In general? Or like for me?] _

_ Enjolras: [For you.] _

He waited a few minutes for an answer.

_ Grantaire: [It's a way to not forget something important.] _

_ Grantaire: [You may be surprised, but I'm not wearing any popular shit. No asian  _

_ scribbles. No Pokémons or skulls. Everything on my body has meaning and is  _

_ connected to something important. Essential to my life.] _

_ Enjolras: [And is Jehan essential?] _

Enjolras bit his lip. Why did he just click "send" before his brain could stop him?

_ Grantaire: [He's a friend.] _

Such an answer wasn’t enough for him, but for now he was able to be satisfied with it.

_ Enjolras: [So all your tattoos have meanings?] _

_ Grantaire: [Of course.] _

_ Enjolras: [And could you design a tattoo for someone else?] _

_ Grantaire: [If I had enough information, I would. I've done tattoos for a few friends  _

_ before.] _

_ Enjolras: [That's what I wanted to know.] _

There was silence for a few minutes. Grantaire seemed to be waiting for Enjolras to complete his thought. He took several deep breaths and sent a message with the words:

_ Enjolras: [I want a tattoo.] _

Grantaire took his time to answer.

_ Grantaire: [I'll come to your apartment tomorrow night.] _

No more words were needed.

“Apollo, you can still surprise me,” Grantaire laughed as he walked into Enjolras's apartment that evening, took off his soaked jacket and hung it on a hanger, and took a hot cup of tea with lemon and honey from Enjolras. “I had no idea you were such a tattoo fan.”

Enjolras walked into the living room, sat down on the couch, and just shrugged. “I've always liked it.”

“I knew that a long time ago.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Don't think I don't notice the way you stare at me sometimes. I always thought -  _ I have paint at me somewhere? Food? Semen? _ \- But then somehow I realized you were peeking at my tattoos. I even showed off in front of you once and it had the same effect, so I thought -  _ Ah, so the boy definitely wants a tattoo, but he doesn't have the balls to do it _ . "

“I have balls,” Enjolras said indignantly. As he said this, he felt blood rush to his face. Grantaire laughed until he almost poured the whole cup on the floor. Enjolras cleared his throat and tried to calm his pounding heart. “So can we?” He asked in a harsh voice.

“Sure, sure, sorry.” Grantaire preferred to place the mug on the table in front of them, wiping away the tears that almost came from his right eye. He opened his backpack, pulled out a sketchbook and freshly cut pencil, and looked ahead. “So, tell me everything.” But he still had a wide enough smile on his face.

Enjolras just rolled his eyes. “Shouldn't you be the one to help me?”

“Certainly. I'd love to. But if you don't tell me what you want, I'll paint what  _ I _ want. “

“No, thank you,” the blond protested, and Grantaire smiled at him again. “Well, you paint nicely, I've seen some of your paintings and all the designs you give us are really good. But-”

“Apollo, calm down,” Grantaire laughed, settling comfortably in a chair across the couch. “I know what you mean. Come on. Do it. What would you like to have?”

“What would I like?" Enjolras repeated his question, thinking for a moment. He never really thought about it much. Somewhere in the corner of his brain he had an idea, but he never knew if it was possible. “I guess I want something that will show what I love the most.”

“Eiffel Tower and the flag. Go it!”

Grantaire had already started drawing, but Enjolras stopped him. “No, I don't want that.”

“You don't want your beloved France on your body?” Grantaire asked, startled.

“France is not the only thing I love.” Enjolras frowned. Grantaire blinked a few times and looked around the apartment. Opposite the couch was Enjolras's desk, over which hung the French flag; next to the television, he had a glass cabinet on which he had exhibited several books of French history; the cups from which they drank tea had French revolutionary slogans from the 19th century; they had a view of the Eiffel Tower from the balcony; above the couch hung a picture of  _ Patria calling the people to the barricades _ . “It's not the only thing,” Enjolras said, a little offended, and Grantaire just nodded.

“So, what then? Favorite pet? Yeah, I don't even know if you've ever had a pet. No dog, he's too hyperactive for you. A cat. Yeah, definitely a cat. But no, she would scatter all the books you have here and make a mess, you wouldn't like that. How about a guinea pig? Although, what do you want to do with the guinea pig? What a boring animal. I mean, probably less boring than little fish that just swim  _ here  _ and  _ there _ , but—”

“I didn't have a pet,”Enjolras interrupted his monologue. “And I prefer dogs to cats.” Grantaire opened his mouth in surprise, but Enjolras paid no attention. “I want it to have meaning for me. Just like your tattoos have for you.”

Grantaire nodded. He turned a few pages in the sketchbook he was holding and turned it toward Enjolras. “Something like that?” There was a picture of a woman with a willow wreath in her hair, a few lilies entwined in it. Instead of blush, she had two constellations marked on her face - on the right face of Aquarius, on the left of Virgo. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was ajar. She looked  _ alive _ . “You may find it relatively... boring, but it was very important to Elodia. The constellations are her two daughters. And those lilies were her husband's favorite flowers. They are flowers of sorrow too. He died about two weeks after their second daughter was born. Acute leukemia.” Grantaire looked at the picture again and ran his finger along the line of her lips. “This was her first tattoo. It was an honor for me.”

“Do you normally make tattoo designs for people?” Enjolras asked in surprise when he finally stopped examining the picture in front of him. He still couldn't believe someone like him —  _ Grantaire  _ — who kept talking about how superficial and volatile beauty was; he painted something so -  _ ethereal _ . “I thought you were painting.”

“I'm painting, you see,” he said, pointing to a sketchbook. But he immediately laughed. “I enjoy tattoos and I won't lie - it occurred to me that I could make a living from it. But it still draws me more to the easel and colors. So much for my tragic life decisions,” he sighed and turned to the other side. “Not everything needs to have deep meaning. Look.” He turned the sketch back to Enjolras. The blond smiled. On the paper was a portrait of a border collie with a bow and a medal tied around its neck. “Renee loved Kayla. Once in her life she was at an agility race with her and it immediately won a gold. She was her champion. So when her time came, she wanted to remember her forever.”Grantaire looked at the picture again and grinned a little. “I don't really paint animals, so it's not perfect.”

“You paint beautifully,” Enjolras couldn't help but praise him. He knew how Grantaire painted. He has received works from him for their group so many times. But he had never seen his ideas. Everything that included their leaflets and posters was mostly just slogans, a few pictures without deeper meaning, something to captivate and shock. But this was Grantaire's art, ideas. It was  _ him _ . And it was  _ wonderful _ . Enjolras shivered slightly at the thought. “So, are you painting for design for others?” He returned to the subject before.

“Only occasionally, and only for friends,” he said, turning the sketchbook to the blank page. “So, it’s for free, mostly.”

“Oh, I see.”

Enjolras was already reaching for his backpack, where he had a wallet, but Grantaire stopped him immediately. “Don't even think about it! God, Jesus,  _ Apollo _ . I want absolutely  _ nothing  _ from you. My reward is that you want it from me. That’s perfect for me.” He scratched at his disobedient black hair and tried to hide the blush on his cheeks. “I'll be happy to do it.”

“But if you want, I'd like to pay—”

“No,” Grantaire said a little more forcefully. He settled back in his chair and tapped the paper with his pencil. “So tell me, do you already have something fancy? You said something about what you love most.”

“Oh, yes, actually…” The blond paused. Did he ever think about it in detail? Maybe not. He loved tattoos on other people, not himself. He couldn't even imagine it. Even though the thought had attracted him for several years, every time he imagined what a tattoo would look like on it, it was blurry, shapeless, he saw  _ nothing _ . He just knew he had an ink stain on his body that he couldn't wash off. “Do you know Jerome Emilian?”

“No,” Grantaire said, frowning a little. “A politician?”

“No. He is a saint. I'd like to have a symbol of him on my tattoo.”  _ My tattoo _ . It sounded so weird. And Enjolras couldn’t deny each other a gentle, exciting shudder that spread throughout his body.

“That's interesting, wait, let me find it.” Grantaire pulled his cell phone from his pocket with his free hand and typed something on it. According to the movement of his eyes, Enjolras guessed that he had read some information about the saint, perhaps looking for his symbols. Suddenly, Grantaire's eyes stopped moving. He blinked a few times. After a moment of silence that Enjolras couldn’t identify, but he knew it was strangely uncomfortable; Grantaire asked, “Protector of orphans and abandoned children?” He looked up from the display and looked at the Enjolras.

“Yes,” said Enjolras weakly, as if embarrassed. “You said all your tattoos have meaning, their own reasons. As I thought about it, I realized I was the same. I want tattoos to complete my personality, my life. It was something that others didn't need to understand, until I stood in front of the mirror, with pride in my chest, saying -  _ yes, this is me _ .”

Grantaire was silent for a moment. Without a word, he looked into Enjolras's eyes and blinked at times. His face froze strangely. As if he had forgotten to smile. “Is that supposed to... be Feuilly?” Enjolras shuddered. The tone Grantaire said was so cold.

Enjolras had no idea what to say. It seemed strange to confirm it. So he just nodded. “Oh,” Grantaire said softly, placing the cell phone on the table. “Man. Wow. I haven't done tattoos for lovers yet.” He wiped his palm on his pants and clapped. Enjolras noticed him bite his lower lip for a few seconds.  _ Why _ ? “I hope you will then give me a good reference for Cosette and Marius, maybe I’ll start some good business with it and I will be famous—”

“Wait,” Enjolras stopped him, raising one hand in front of him. “For  _ lovers _ ?” Grantaire nodded. “Who was talking about love here?”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Well, you're—”

“I  _ was _ ,” the blond corrected him.

“But-”

“I  _ was _ ,” Enjolras said more forcefully, squeezing the hinges of his teeth until the brunette could hear their creaks. He paused and looked back at the blank paper in front of him. “Whether my feelings were  _ more  _ than friendly, they are a thing of the past. Those… feelings that already…” Enjolras didn’t know what to say. It was weird. He was an excellent speaker. But as soon as he had to talk about his feelings, about daily life, about what he would actually like; he didn't always know how to start, how to grasp a conversation. That's why he preferred not to talk about it. When his own feelings and emotions began to tire, annoy, or frighten him; he went to see Combeferre. He could always advise him, listen to him, or just make him his favorite, herbal tea and play video games until the evening. This was new and foreign to him. He was insecure. “It's gone.” There he didn't have to elaborate anymore, they both remembered their quiet night on Bossuet's balcony. Grantaire couldn't help but smile slightly. “But he’s still very important to me. Not just because of this. And never just because of this. But because… for me, and actually not only for me, really did a lot. His nature, his actions, everything he does for us, for the children in the orphanage he grew up in, for the girls he always loved. He always helped me when I needed to. I owe him for the time, when he offered me his bed when my roommate kicked me out of the apartment or later when Combeferre brought a girl into ours.” They both laughed softly. “It’s not proof of…  _ love _ . But strong respect and gratitude.”

When Enjolras looked at Grantaire’s face, the stiffness was replaced by a gentle look and a slight smile. “I see,” he said softly, tapping the paper a few times with a pencil. “But honestly, I have no idea how to portray it.”

Enjolras just nodded. When Grantaire said nothing for a long time and frowned, he asked, “But you did know what to do with Jehan.”

“Sorry?”

Enjolras swallowed dry. He tried to drive away the burning sensation in his chest. After all, he can’t be jealous of his friend. Of  _ their  _ friend. It was so absurd. He knew they were almost like brothers. Grantaire suffered from a strange brother complex against Jehan, as did Bahorel or Joly. But why didn't it bother him too? “That fox on her elbow.”

“Oh!” Grantaire rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and looked at the elbow on which the new tattoo was. “Pretty nice, isn't it?” Enjolras growled softly. “But I didn’t design it overnight Apollo. Some ideas come right away, some later. Do you think I knew right away how to depict him? No. In truth, it took me the most time. And yet it was so simple! But Joly, on the other hand—” Grantaire pulled down a piece of the hem of his sweater, revealing his right shoulder. “—I know right away.” Enjolras had a look at his emaciated, white shoulder with a kingfisher tattooed on it. He had seen him a few times. But he never associated tattoos with Joly. “You thought I'd have something to do with medicine, didn't you?” The brunette laughed softly and ran his finger over the detailed feathers on his wings, which were the only ones painted blue. “The kingfisher is a symbol of eternal love. Do you know that they live in inseparable couples? And blue is a symbol of fidelity, joy and protection.”

“Sounds like Joly,” the blond said. “What do you have for Feuilly?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “You said you had a tattoo of everyone who was important to you.”

“Yes, I have.”

“That's why I thought…” Enjolras didn't finish it and just shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

“No, don't apologize,” Grantaire said immediately, tapping his thigh. “Our hard worker is hiding here. I'd show it to you, but I don't want to undress in front of you.” Grantaire tried to laugh, but they both knew his laughter was fake. “Then I'll try to come up with something.”

For several minutes, the sound of a pencil tip touching the paper echoed through the room. Grantaire tilted his head to the right, then to the left, frowning occasionally, looking somewhere in front of him into space, then almost touching the paper with his nose. He looked -  _ funny _ . Enjolras couldn't help but smile. He would have enjoyed his strange grimaces for some time if he hadn't opened his mouth and asked, “And do you have me, too?” Grantaire stopped drawing and Enjolras bit his tongue. Why sometimes his heart couldn't listen to the brain shouting at him that talking was definitely not a good idea?

“You mean tattoo?” Grantaire asked, the younger nodding. “What do you think?” In truth, Enjolras had no idea. He knew what relationship they had with each other and how long they had built it. They were friends, but actually they weren't. They looked at each other strangely like lovers, but they could never imagine crossing the line. At times they shouted at each other like enemies, but they knew they would always protect the other from the threat. It was a strange combination of feelings, perceptions and memories that was confusing to both.

“Honestly-”

“I do.” Grantaire didn't want to hear the word  _ no _ . He didn't want to think that Enjolras couldn't accept the fact that he was so important to him. After all, it was he, thanks to whom he was where he was today, thanks to whom he had friends, and thanks to that he returned to the studio, which not only amused him, but worked for him and promised him a bright future. Didn't the blond ever understand the grateful looks and fleeting touches that begged for more? “Of course I do.” With that, he returned to the drawing, hoping his fingers would stop shaking.

Enjolras swallowed dry again. So he was important to Grantaire after all. And perhaps more important than he thought. It was only because of that that his heart pounded and he felt his cheeks ache from biting into them so he wouldn't laugh. He didn't want to look like a fool. “I want it to be you.”

Grantaire stopped drawing again. “What?”

“I want you to tattoo me.”

“What?” Grantaire blinked in surprise. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don't have a salon. Not even a license. Jesus, I don't even have a gun or ink. I-”

“But Bahorel said last time you tattooed him.”

“What a prick,” Grantaire whispered to himself. “It was only once.”

“Didn't you enjoy it?”

“How did he cry in pain? Best day of my life,” the brunette laughed.

“Maybe you'd enjoy it with me.”

Grantaire looked into his eyes and smiled softly. “I doubt it.” The blond was inhaling to say something, but Grantaire cut him off. “Like, the tattoo? Certainly. But if I saw you cry? I can't even imagine it. And honestly, I don't want to be the reason…to make you cry.” Enjolras noticed his tongue running over his dry lips and bit his lower lip for a few seconds. “I don't want it to hurt. It will be better if you go to a professional. My friend is really great. Even the neck he did hurt me the least. So-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras stopped him. “I want it to be you.” Grantaire took a deep breath and looked at the paper in front of him. He seemed to be thinking about it. “I'm going to pour us some wine.” The brunette just nodded.

When Enjolras returned to the living room and handed Grantaire a glass of wine, the brunette drank almost half at one gulp. As his favorite fluid warmed his throat, he took a deep breath and placed the glass on the table in front of him. “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“I know,” the blond said when he realized what Grantaire meant.

“But it won't be easy,” Grantaire said. “I've already talked to my friend and he promised to lend me everything I need and introduce me to it a bit. So it won't be a problem. But I have the impression that you will have to deserve it a little.”

Enjolras didn’t like his conspiratorial smile. “Go on.”

“I'll tattoo you if you guess where and what I have tattooed for  _ you _ .”

“How many attempts do I have?”

Grantaire grinned at Enjolras. “I like this approach.”

Five.

That many encounters with Grantaire awaited Enjolras before his body will be covered in black.

A week after the meeting of their revolutionary group, they stayed in Musain for a little longer. They sat down at a small round table, ordering red wine, Grantaire a strawberry pie, and Enjolras baked baguette. The brunette immediately unpacked a new sketchbook, pencil, and began taking notes. He discussed with Enjolras everything that was needed.  _ Will the tattoo be black and white or in color? Where would you like it? How much space do you want it to take? This can't be tattooed at once, get ready for at least three sessions before you're done _ . When they had finished and brought them the order, Grantaire asked, “Do you know?” Enjolras proudly turned off his chest and snorted. He was sure he would guess for the first time. He just said: “It will definitely be something with France, so maybe a flag? And my favorite password, which I also use as passwords, and that is the French motto:  _ Liberte. Fraternite. Eqalite. _ ”Grantaire finished his wine, clapped, and just said, “Wrong. And you forgot about the body part. So stupid too. Honestly, Apollo, do you really think I would defile my body with something as superficial as a patriotic sign?”

That surprised Enjolras. For a good two days, he couldn't shake the feeling that Grantaire was laughing in his face. He said it calmly, almost with a neutral expression, but the way it burned on his face and chest made it quite clear that he was ashamed. He knew very well that Grantaire was quite eccentric. Not in dress like Courfeyrac, nor in behavior like Bahorel; but in one's own life. He behaves differently, he thinks differently than most people. He’s an artist. They have always been  _ weird _ . They had their own worlds that he didn’t understand. And if he wanted Grantaire's work to be signed on it, he needed to penetrate his world.

The second time he came more prepared. When they met in the Korint in five days, after Enjolras had studied old myths about the legend of the Greek gods for several days in the school library; right after the brunette sat down, he said, “Right side. The sun, the bow, the laurel wreath, and the lyre.” Grantaire stared at Enjolras, confused for a moment, before realizing what it was all about. With a smile, he sat down in the chair opposite him and shook his head, “If I was a woman, my panties would be already falling. Did you really read about Apollo for me, Apollo?” Enjolras had no idea if he had an adorable smile on his face or was starting to tease him. “Really nice. But no. For both.”

When they met in Musain two days before their group's regular meeting, Enjolras tapped his finger impatiently on the table and drank his third glass of water. Little did he know it would be so hard. Grantaire arrived a little later, holding several books on art history and new brushes. As he sat next to Enjolras, he was breathing fast and saying something about their  _ Professor of Anatomy being a dick;  _ but Enjolras didn't really listen to him. “Ankle. No drawing, just the words  _ Aristos Achaion _ .” Grantaire grinned again — his typical smile, which Enjolras loved and hated at the same time — and just shook his head. “Damn,” Enjolras said softly, drinking another glass of water. Grantaire was already inhaling that he would at least say something about trying and listening to what he likes, but Enjolras stopped him. “No. Don’t say anything. Tell me what you need for a tattoo.” Grantaire just nodded.

A week later, when they met in the park at Mrs. Isabelle's famous bakery, Enjolras sat leaning against one of the trees, reading a new political science study about the French Parliament, Grantaire lying on his back in the grass, his head propped up in his school backpack and drawing in a sketchbook that was leaning on his stomach and his knees bent. “What do you think?” He asked as he turned the finished sketch to Enjolras. He just grunted to indicate that he liked the picture. “Great. I'll cover it up a bit and finish it. I must say that it never occurred to me that you had such an imagination Apollo.” He made a few experienced hand moves and smiled. “Although you can't guess.” He looked again at the blond, who was holding the book tighter in his hands. “So what? Are you guessing again?” Enjolras said nothing for a moment, then said quietly, “Neck. Crescent. My date of birth.” Grantaire was the only one who knew when Enjolras was born. Like Enjolras, he knew Grantaire's birthdays. They never talked about it with anyone, they didn't celebrate it, and they never really understood why so much fuss was being made about birthdays. The fact that they had the same opinion on birthdays strangely united them, and they liked the idea that they had something in common, just the two of them. He had seen tattoos on his neck several times and, according to the Internet, was born at a time when the moon was just growing up. He knew he had some numbers above it, but thanks to his thick, black hair, he had never seen it clearly. Grantaire smiled fondly at him, and Enjolras understood before he said, “Nice, but wrong again. That date above that moon is the birth of my sister.” With that, they both returned to their work and said nothing more.

Three days later, they met again at Enjolras' home. Enjolras poured himself hot, elderberry tea and bought Grantaire a selected, red wine, which he only drank when he succeeded. As he poured it, the sparkles in his eyes lit up with flames that the blond hadn't seen in him in a long time. He thanked him quietly and drank immediately. Unlike other days, he enjoyed the wine and sipped it slowly. He always shivered blissfully and grunted. “So what?” The brunette asked as Enjolras finally sat down in the chair next to him and looked at the finished sketch. Enjolras took the block in his hand. His eyes examined every move Grantaire made. Where he pushed, where he slowed down, how beautifully he drew all the details. He knew Grantaire could paint well. But this? This was something much better than he could have imagined.

“Do you like it?” Grantaire asked nervously as Enjolras studied the drawing for a few minutes and said nothing.

“Wonderful,” Enjolras said, almost out of breath.

Grantaire breathed aloud. “Geez, I was afraid you didn’t like it from the way you've been looking at it for so long.”

“I'm sorry,” Enjolras said apologetically, placing the drawing on the table in front of him. But he still looked at it admiringly. “It's really beautiful.” He turned to Grantaire. “Thank you.”

“Oh, please, it's okay.” The brunette waved his hand, trying to look anywhere but at the blond in front of him. Even so, Enjolras saw a soft blush spilling over his cheeks. He wondered if his words of praise or wine were to blame. “So, should I make an appointment with my friend?”

Enjolras frowned. “Why should I -  _ oh _ .” Of course. He didn't guess the tattoo that was supposed to be about him. He couldn't even imagine the place he should have it. Grantaire will not tattoo him. That was the deal. “Oh,  _ that _ ,” he said a little softer, looking at the drawing again. He  _ wanted  _ it from Grantaire. He  _ needed  _ it from Grantaire. It  _ must be _ a Grantaire. It was a strange desire he needed to fulfill. He knew he would understand all his feelings. He was so close to the goal. And so he simply threw it away. He wanted to swear at himself. Blame himself for not knowing him at all. How can he still call himself his friend when he has no idea what he likes? What does he think? He sighed. “I'll talk to him.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said, finishing his glass. “I need to go Apollo, thanks for the wine, it was excellent.”

“You’re going already?” Enjolras asked in surprise. He looked at his watch. He didn't stay for half an hour.

“Yeah, I have a night shift tonight.” Grantaire put on his shoes and grunted. “Originally, I just took some after Éponine, but somehow they liked me and here we are. The boss praises me for knowing everything about booze. And people say there’s no good job for an alcoholic,” he laughed and adjusted his favorite black sweater, which was a good two numbers bigger. At one point it was dirty from yellow paint. The stain on the black fabric shone brightly.

“Don't you want to borrow some of my sweatshirts?”

“Why?”

“Yours is dirty.”

“That's my style! Just let them know I'm an artist who's still working.”

“You shouldn't go to work like this,” Enjolras scolded him.

“You're not my boss.”

“You should wear something more decent.”

“You're like my dad,” Grantaire laughed again, looking in the mirror Enjolras had across from his shoebox. Enjolras studied him as well. He kept wondering what he liked about the sweater so much. He simply didn’t understand his style. At times he looked as if he had slept under a bridge for a week, and sometimes he wanted to undress him on the spot to see the annoying clothes on the ground and enjoy his -  _ for him _ \- perfect body -  _ which Grantaire hated for some reason _ \- and clean, white skin, which-

Enjolras winced. He wanted to reprimand himself internally for such thoughts that he should definitely not have, certainly not about a friend with whom he now spent strangely much time; when he realized it. Grantaire's naked skin. White, soft, clean, in some places overgrown with darker hair, in some places decorated with tattoos. The tattoos he liked so much to admire. On the neck, arms, wrists, elbows, thighs, ankles, abdomen and right side up to the shoulder blade. “Your chest.”

Grantaire stopped between the doors, looked at Enjolras, and frowned. “What?”

“Your chest. I've never seen your chest.” He always covered himself with a black tank top. He never lifted it higher than above the navel. But according to the lines on his stomach and chest, he sensed that he was hiding another tattoo there. How come he realized it now? “So you have a tattoo about me on your chest. Between... the breasts.” Grantaire’s heart pounded. His fingers dug into the wood of the door. “We'll have the tattoo in the same place, I want it there too. I said it from the beginning and when I said it, you looked at me so…”  _ Surprised? Excited? _ Enjolras couldn't tell. “So it's the chest. Am I right?”

Grantaire stood between the doors, taking a deep breath. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He bit his dry lip and just muttered something to himself. “And what do I have there?”

Now it was Enjolras who felt nervous. He guessed half, what about the other? He had no idea what he might have there. Animal, inscription, password, motto, outline, portrait? He just shook his head at the thought of his own face on Grantaire’s body. It was absurd. None of them would be that stupid after all. “I don't know,” the blond admitted after a moment's silence. He didn't want to guess anymore. He knew that all he would say would be stupid.

“Fine,” the brunette said, walking out the door.

“Wait,” Enjolras stopped him, opening the door so he could see the brunette. But he stood with his back to him. He saw only how fast he inhaled. “I didn't guess it all, but it's possible that you would still be—”

“Saturday at five here, be ready,” Grantaire said before reaching the end of the hall and quickly running down all the stairs to the ground floor. Enjolras came out of the apartment, leaned against the railing, and looked down, perhaps hoping to see his disappearing figure. But he didn't see anything anymore. Still, he stood in the hall for a few more minutes, smiling.

“Okay, how do you want it?” Grantaire asked as he set his backpack on the floor and looked around the room.

“What?” Enjolras asked, frowning. Grantaire really asked him—

“Well, the way you want it—Jesus, I didn't mean it  _ that  _ way!” Grantaire shouted loudly as Enjolras jumped. “What are you thinking about right now, Apollo? Shouldn't I rename you as Aphrodite?” With that, he knelt on the floor, unzipped his backpack, and began pulling out things that Enjolras had never seen before.

“She is a goddess.”

“And?”

“Woman. I'm not a woman.”

“I know that very well,  _ Aphrodite _ ,” Grantaire laughed, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. He put everything on the table and smiled contentedly. Only now did Enjolras finally know what it was. Ink. Needle. Something that looked like a hot air gun. Several pairs of rubber gloves he saw in hospitals. A bottle of white water, according to the red cross on the label, assumed it was a disinfectant. Several packages with tampons and handkerchiefs. Red towel. Enjolras kept wondering if he had deliberately chosen the color so that the blood couldn’t be seen so much. “Here's the best light,” Grantaire said expertly as he looked around the room. The sun was setting, giving the room a hint of orange color. But Grantaire turned on the light on the table and moved it to the table in front of them. A bright, white light shone on the couch. “So it would be nice to do it here.”

“The couch can be unfolded,” Enjolras said as he walked over to Grantaire, knelt beside him, and pulled on a string that Grantaire hadn't noticed until then. The couch sank slightly, and Enjolras nudged the brunette gently to motion for him to dodge. The couch was low, but still quite wide and spacious for at least four people. “For visitors,” he explained.

“And for a tattoo too! Great, Apollo.”

“So I'm the God of the Sun again? You're changing it somehow fast.”

“Wait some time and I'll start calling you Dius, too!”

“No, thank you,” the blond said as he stood up. “Should I lie down?”

“Um, not really,” Grantaire said, sitting on the edge of the couch. He tapped his finger on his chin. “Don't you have any big pillows? You would put them behind your back. You know - you don't lie completely, but you don't sit either.”

“I will take a look.”

Enjolras returned in a few moments with two pillows. He slept on one and had the other ready because… he didn't even know why. He always buys everything in pairs. The first thought because it was cheaper that way. But it wasn't until later that he realized that he was just trying to justify what was really behind it. He always hoped that he would use everything once he had a partner.  _ Once _ . So far no one had touched his sheets, blankets, pillows and duvets. Grantaire's said with a smile, “That's great!” He took the pillows in his hands and adjusted them on the couch. “Sit down.” Enjolras listened, sat on the couch, leaned his back against the pillows, his head against the front of the couch, and leaned back a little. He relaxed. It was quite pleasant. “Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“So, can we start?” Enjolras just nodded. “Then take off your shirt.” Grantaire picked up a bottle of ink, put the needle on his tattoo gun, and checked several times to make sure it was sitting properly. He turned back to Enjolras. His shirt was already lying somewhere on the floor. Grantaire wanted to put everything beside him, but he got stuck. Instead, he admired his beautiful body. He had seen him several times. Maybe more than was healthy at all. More than was common with normal friends. And even though he shouldn’t be affected by his —  _ beautiful, shiny, golden, elaborate, hairless  _ — body, it was always as if he had seen him for the very first time. He felt saliva build up in his mouth and he had to swallow quickly so he wouldn't drool. He always felt like a hungry dog and there was a bone, which he had no right to bite. He swallowed again, wet his lips with his tongue, and bit his cheek. One more moment and he could say something stupid. Rather, he placed all the things beside him, took the rest of the thing from the table, and placed them beside the other. He immediately picked up the disinfectant bottle and poured the liquid on his palms, fingers and elbows several times. When he was satisfied, he pulled on blue rubber gloves and crawled on his knees to Enjolras' side. He picked up the pistol and tried several times the movements, which he would do for several hours at a time. “Damn,” he whispered to himself, finding that the position he was in wasn't the best.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Well, it's not quite good,”Grantaire moved back, front, sideways several times. He shook his head. He grunted and whispered something. “But somehow I can do it.”

“Wouldn't it be better if you sat on me?”

Grantaire’s eyes widened in surprise. “Come again?”

“Well, wouldn't that be better?” Enjolras asked, looking at his body. In position, he had a beautiful view of his bare chest and developed belly. “You're going to tattoo my chest, so you're gonna have to lean in a lot. Kneeling next to me won't be the best. I don't want anything to go wrong.” It was something that still made Grantaire nervous. He knew that one wrong move could destroy not only the entire tattoo, but also Enjolras' skin. The tattoo would be painful already, he didn't want to hurt him even more than necessary. Instead of answering, Grantaire just nodded, crawled even closer to Enjolras, and carefully wrapped his arms around his hips. He tried not to notice the heart pounding as fast as if he were running a marathon. “Better?” Enjolras asked cautiously, feeling the red flush on his face. He was so close only to his closest friends every time he hugged them. But it always took only a few seconds. He'll be looking at Grantaire like this for hours. “You can sit down.”

“Where?”

“On me.” Without thinking much about it, he tapped his thighs with his palms. As soon as the sound of tapped skin came through the room, they both fell into silence. Enjolras believed that if it were possible to sink into the ground in shame, it would happen right now. He didn't understand how he could ever do such nonsensical things as listen to his heart instead of his brain. “I think it will be more comfortable.”

“Isn’t that some form of sexual harassment?” Grantaire asked nervously, trying not to notice how beautiful Enjolras smelled. Like cinnamon, and just lit wood. Cologne? Or his own scent?

“Oh, I'm sorry, I—”

“That's fine, Apollo,” the brunette laughed. “I'm just trying to lighten the atmosphere a little. Do you also think it's too hot in here?”

“I've already opened all the windows.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Grantaire muttered softly. He didn't want to talk anymore. So he preferred to sit carefully on Enjolras' crotch. The knees and legs relaxed pleasantly. Instead, he began to feel pressure in his chest, lower abdomen, and back. Grantaire frowned. Back? He shivered softly. Thanks to that, he landed on Enjolras with all his weight. The pressure he felt was -  _ Oh _ . “So tell me when we can start,” he said quickly, trying not to think about what he was feeling. Enjolras was not excited. There was no indication. But he could still feel it.  _ God, how  _ big  _ could he be when he could feel it through two layers of clothing? What is it like if he touched it and started to _ —

“Is everything all right, Grantaire?” The brunette jerked and looked at Enjolras, who was examining him carefully. Grantaire, however, was intrigued by how red his lips looked, how his eyes gleamed. “You're all red.”

“It's the heat!” He tried to excuse himself. Enjolras just nodded. Grantaire picked up the glossy paper, which he carefully placed on Enjolras's chest and stroked it several times. The skin under his fingers was firm and thick. Enjolras always took a moment to work out. Like Grantaire. Even so, their bodies looked quite different. “Your heart is pounding,” Grantaire said as he removed the paper from his chest, leaving a purple outline of a tattoo on Enjolras's skin.

“Is that wrong?” The blond asked, keeping his eyes on his chest.

“It doesn't matter,” Grantaire said with a smile. “Just, if you’re not really—”

“I’m sure about it,” Enjolras said, understanding what Grantaire was saying. “It's just my first tattoo. I don't know what to expect. I'm nervous about whether it will look good on me. I may be a little nervous about how much it will hurt. But… I look forward to it too.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said as he cleared his throat, picking up a tattoo pistol and approaching Enjolras's chest with its tip. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“We won't have time for everything in one session.”

“I know, you said it before.”

“So as soon as we start—”

“—Have you ever seen me give up on something?”

Grantaire smiled. “No.”

“You can start.”

“Okay.” With that, Grantaire dropped his pistol and approached Enjolras' skin for the first time. As the needle point pierced his skin for the first time, Enjolras jumped slightly. It was the same as when the nurse at the doctor took his blood. But as he waited for the pain and pressure to ease and Grantaire pulled out the needle, the pain came again. And again. And again. And again.

He frowned. It hurt. But not much. It was just -  _ annoying _ . He wet his lips with his tongue and exhaled. He tried not to twitch much. Nevertheless, he sometimes jumped a litte. He had a desire to avoid the needle at times. He clenched his fingers on the couch and swallowed. He went into it voluntarily. After all, he didn't back down after a few strokes, especially when he had convinced Grantaire so many times that he was sure about it. Grantaire also had to endure it. And several times.

For the first time since they began, Enjolras looked at Grantaire's face. He was strangely stiff, firm. His eyes were focused on one place only. He frowned a little. He was concentrating. With one hand he expertly moved the pistol over his body, with the other he wiped it with a cotton swab. It was rinsing with ink and faint drops of blood. He blinked occasionally, but always for a few seconds. As if he was afraid he would make a mistake.

Enjolras smiled. He had never seen Grantaire at work. He loved being able to watch people work. Everyone had a habit that described them perfectly. Combeferre always had to make black tea with ginger, Courfeyrac played his favorite songs from the band  _ Panic! At the Disco, _ Jehan lit a scented candle with vanilla extract, Joly went for a run, Bossuet needed a supply of sweets, Feuilly sat on the floor for five minutes and relaxed, and Bahorel fastened his hair in a small ponytail. And Grantaire? Enjolras didn’t know. It always occurred to him that he had come to work unprepared. He just worked. But now that he was so close to him, he understood. His preparation and habits came with the work itself. Only now did he see that the work itself was everything to him. The way he concentrated, the way he perceived, everything he did, the way his eyes shone, and at times he bit his lips — it was —  _ charming _ . Now he understood why he liked everything so much. He was looking at something Grantaire had put more into than others.  _ He  _ was in it.  _ His _ beauty.

He wanted to touch his face, to feel his strength; but instead he jumped up and hissed loudly. “Damn,” he whispered as he jerked back a little and sank more into the pillows behind his back. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“It's okay,” Grantaire said, looking into his face. “It usually hurts a little more here.” His hand moved more to the center of his chest. “Wait till I'm close to the nipple. You might even shout,” he laughed, hoping it would ease the tense atmosphere in the room.

“Um,” Enjolras growled, biting his lip.

“I’ll try to hurt you as little as possible,” the brunette promised.

Enjolras believed him. He understood that the only way to get a tattoo was this. An outline was already forming on his chest, around which the skin was a little red. He knew it would hurt for a few more hours. But he will never regret it.

As Grantaire had expected, as he approached the nipple with the tip, Enjolras hissed again. The closer he was to it, the more Enjolras convinced himself that the pain would quickly subside. But as Grantaire moved sharply to the right, Enjolras growled - almost like an  _ animal  _ \- and his hands got up off the couch toward Grantaire. He touched his thighs and dug his fingers into his jeans. “I'm sorry,” he said in a hoarse voice. “But this was  _ very  _ uncomfortable.”

“Iknow,” Grantaire said, stopping his pistol for a moment. “Do you want to stop now?”

“No,” Enjolras growled again, tilting his head and closing his eyes. “Go on.”

“My God, if you could see yourself now.”

Enjolras opened his eyes and looked at Grantaire. “What?”

“Nothing!” Grantaire shouted, laughing. “Nothing, nothing, nothing, let’s continue,” he laughed. But Enjolras knew he was just playing it. Under normal circumstances, he would start thinking about it, perhaps analyzing Grantaire's every move (something he had learned from Combeferre), but as soon as he felt the tip slip back under his skin, he closed his eyes and tried to feel his own breathing. He didn't want to growl. He didn't even want to hiss. And he definitely didn't want to cry. But he felt that the pain was too much for him at times. He had never felt anything like this, and he didn't even know if he liked it. Sometimes the needle just fluttered softly, sometimes he could barely feel it, sometimes he felt like he had stabbed him with a stake and sprinkled salt on his wound. The longer he tattooed him, the more he frowned.

After a few hours, he began to growl softly, and at times he let out a painful moan, but he immediately swallowed back in his throat, saying, “I'm fine.”

When he thought he was used to the pain, and the monotonous sound of the tattoo pistol almost began to put him to sleep; Grantaire turned it off and said with a smile, “Done!” Enjolras opened his eyes and looked at his chest. The purple outline was gone. It was replaced by a black one that shone directly on his golden skin. “Outline done, coloring next time.”

“Wow,” said Enjolras. His voice was faint, and he still had remnants of the pain he'd felt for hours. “It looks good.”

“Just good?” Grantaire asked, opening his mouth dramatically and blinking a few times. Enjolras tried to laugh, but instead let out another moan. Grantaire closed his mouth and sighed. “It's going to hurt for a few more hours.” Grantaire reached for the transparencies and wrapped them around the fresh tattoo carefully, not to hurt Enjolras even more. “All you have to do is keep it for three hours. Wash the tattoo quite often. But only with water and this.” Grantaire picked up a white cube with  _ baby antibacterial soap _ written on it. “For the first two days, don't rub it with anything and don't even try to scrub it extremely. I know what a clean freak you are, but loosen up a bit this week, okay?” Then he shows Enjolras another box, this time with  _ baby cream  _ on it. “Massage your skin with it, just a little. The skin has to breathe and the tattoo dries, or you might be in trouble.” He slapped his palms on his thighs and smiled. “So we're done for today.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Sure?”

“I don't think you're done.”

“What are you t—” He felt Enjolras lift his hips gently and his crotch rubbed against Grantaire's. His always loose pants were strangely tight now. He looked down. As soon as he saw the bulge looming beneath his cloth, his face began to burn. He could feel it in his face, his back, his lungs, his heart. If it were possible, Grantaire would die by embarrassment on the spot. He clasped his fists on his thighs. He didn't want to, he  _ couldn't  _ look Enjolras in the face.

“It's okay,” Enjolras said softly, Grantaire still looking down. “Really, Grantaire.” But the brunette was still silent. Enjolras sighed. His chest was still burning, his legs aching from the way Grantaire sat on him. “Grantaire,” he whispered once more, but the brunette just shook his head. Enjolras grabbed his chin and made him look at him. As soon as their blue eyes met, the blond smiled. “It's okay,” he repeated.

“This doesn't happen to me normally,” Grantaire said weakly, scratching his thick black hair. Enjolras watched the movement closely. He always wanted to stroke his hair. He loved when someone played with his, but the need to touch hair others was a little stronger. Maybe it was the pain, maybe the fatigue, but Enjolras decided not to control himself. He let go of his chin and stroked his hair above his ear with his hand. He dug his fingers into his thigh and exhaled weakly. “...Apollo?”

“It's okay,” he said again when he finally sat down. They were only inches apart. Grantaire's eyes widened. Enjolras has always been beautiful. But so close? He looked like an ethereal being. Beautiful blue eyes, golden skin, light brown freckles on his cheeks and nose, long lashes, thick, blond hair that fell to his forehead. “It's okay.” Who did he tell - Grantaire or himself? Did he try to calm him down or make sure it was okay to touch his friend and let the only, thick border that still divided them fall? “It's okay,” he whispered as he rubbed his nose against him and licked his lips. “Okay…”He put their lips together.

They both felt that time had stopped. Enjolras's eyes were closed, his fingers still dug in his black hair, he was enjoying the elder's dry but sweet lips. Grantaire, on the other hand, didn’t want to lose a single moment. His eyes were open, he watched Enjolras's lashes tremble, he felt the tingling of his hair, he still couldn't believe how soft his lips were. “It's all right,” Enjolras whispered again as he parted his lips and licked his tongue with Grantaire’s.

“Wait,” Grantaire whispered, placing his hands on his shoulders. Enjolras hissed painfully immediately. “Jesus, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” He pulled away from him carefully and looked into his eyes, which Enjolras reopened. He opened his lips, but didn't know what to say. He had so many questions in his head that he lost himself in them. “Wait a minute.”

Enjolras just nodded, placing his hands beside his body. He looked Grantaire in the face, examining his every grimace. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Grantaire breathed breathlessly. He smiled at it. “Definitely nothing wrong.” He was silent for a moment, and when he took a deep breath and exhaled, he just added, “I just want you to see this before anything else happens.” Without further words, he took the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

Enjolras's voice got stuck in his throat. He always wanted to take a close look at Grantaire's body, touch each tattoo, admire the work of his own designs. But when Grantaire straightened his back and turned off his chest, he realized why he had taken off his shirt. He had a phoenix tattooed on his chest, between his breasts. A beautiful mythical creature, around which several flames whipped. “May I?” Enjolras asked cautiously. Grantaire just nodded. Enjolras reached for his chest and touched the tattoo that was designed for  _ him _ . They both jumped under the touch - Enjolras at how hot Grantaire's skin was; Grantaire because it was Enjolras who touched him. Enjolras's fingers scanned every outline of feathers, beak, eyes, and flames. “Wonderful,” he whispered to himself. “Why a phoenix?”

“Because even if he burns alive thanks to his own fire, he always rises from the ashes. Nothing will stop him. He doesn't give up. No one can kill him. He's immortal.” Grantaire grabbed Enjolras's fingers and pressed his entire palm to his chest. Enjolras could feel his heart pounding. “Like you.” He looked at Enjolras and smiled. “All you do. For us, for your family, for our ideals, for Paris, for France… for  _ me _ .”

They just sat there in silence for a while. Enjolras listened as Grantaire's heart beat, and Grantaire drowned in Enjolras's blue eyes. They both didn't want to ruin the moment. It was exceptional. They both considered in their heads everything they had lived together for five years. From the first meeting until this moment. They didn't want to ruin something they were building so powerfully. But when they both leaned towards each other, at the same time, their mouths reunited; they didn’t regret it. They knew it should be like this. They decided to face the consequences of their actions. Together.

Grantaire dropped his T-shirt and began examining Enjolras's body with his hands. He touched him gently on the shoulders, on his elbows, examining the golden, taut skin that burned beneath his fingers. He touched his hips carefully. “We have to be careful about this,” Grantaire said as he finally pulled away from the blond so he could breathe. They both looked at the blondes' chest. “Do you know you should rest and don’t exercise for a while?”

“Really?”

“Sweat will only make it worse. You've whined enough already.”

“I didn't whine,” Enjolras protested in a harsh voice, and Grantaire just laughed. Before the older of them could say anything, Enjolras kissed him again. He dug his fingers into his thick hair and tugged at it several times. Grantaire knew it was definitely not a coincidence. He wanted to prove to him that, despite the inexperience that was known among their group, he was the one who had the upper hand. He used his tongue to examine every piece in his mouth, digging his fingers into his skin, rubbing his crotch against his. Grantaire would normally try to gain his dominance, perhaps only because of the pride that, despite all the hardships and losses of life, was still deeply rooted in him; but now he couldn't. He surrendered to Enjolras. He closed his eyes, moaned, and rose to his feet. Delight stopped thinking. He focused only on the uncomfortable pressure in his pants.

Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras, shoved him into his shoulders, and forced him to sit against the pillow again. “Make yourself comfortable,” the elder repeated, smiling mischievously as the blond listened to him without a word. By four, he made a few backward movements by touching his navel with his nose. Enjolras was already inhaled to say something, but Grantaire silenced him with the words, “If you don't like it, tell me.”

Enjolras was hard, pink, wet and  _ beautiful _ . Grantair's saliva ran into his mouth at the sight of his swollen veins, the size and width a little thicker than he was used to. He had to swallow so he wouldn't drool. He quickly licked his lips with his tongue. He touched his entire length with his hand and made a few up and down movements. Enjolras grunted contentedly and  jumped a little. “Although I believe I have enough experience for you to enjoy it,” he said a little haughtily as he leaned over the tip and put it all in his mouth.

As Enjolras was consumed by Grantaire's heat, he closed his eyes. He wanted to watch, but that feeling —  _ wet, tight, hot  _ — made him focus only on what he was feeling. His body relaxed, he settled more into the pillow, tilting his head slightly to the side. He didn't want to, but he closed his eyes under the heat that spread throughout his body. He enjoyed the excitement that engulfed him. He stretched his legs, twisted his toes, frowned. He could feel the heat on his face, he must have been all red, his cheeks and ears were burning. He knew he didn't look great now.

But what about Grantaire? He took a few deep breaths to calm himself a little. He opened his eyes slowly. “Oh God, Grantaire,” he breathed as he looked at him. The brunette stared at him the whole time, his big blue eyes examining his whole face. His lips were red, wet with saliva, swollen, and soft under everything they did. His hair stuck to his forehead with a few drops of sweat. He touched his thigh with one hand, massaging it as if reassuring him and convincing him that everything was fine. He had his other hand under him. Although Enjolras didn’t see it, he realized what he was doing. He shuddered at the thought of not being the only one so turned on.

Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras so he could finally take a deep breath. “Do you like it?” He asked with a smile as he began to touch him with his hands. Enjolras was only able to nod his head and close his eyes again. “God, you're so beautiful,” Grantaire whispered excitedly, leaning over his lips and kissing him hungrily. Enjolras wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed it against his body. He hissed in pain, but as Gre tried to pull away from him, he squeezed him even harder.

It took only a few minutes for Enjolras to begin to feel the familiar pressure in his lower abdomen, the itching in his legs and groin. He tried to pull away from Grantaire, warn him, but the brunette deepened their kiss even more. They bumped their noses and heard the other gasp in excitement. When Enjolras tugged Grantaire’s hair and moaned happily; he felt a strange warmth in his hand - he knew it was over.

They pulled away after a few minutes. They were breathing deeply, their eyes closed, their foreheads leaning against each other. Grantaire stroked Enjolras's wet stomach with his hand and massaged his own juice into his skin. He was smiling. When he opened his eyes, he was startled, “Enjolras, are you all right?”

There were a few tears on Enjolras's red cheeks. Enjolras didn't make a sound. They ran down his cheeks in complete silence. As Grantaire tried to pull away from the younger, Enjolras opened his large, blue eyes and smiled heartily at the brunette. “Nothing happens. There were just…  _ a lot _ of feelings, you know?”

“Did it hurt?” Grantaire asked cautiously, thinking about what he must have done wrong.

“No,” Enjolras said truthfully, stroking Grantaire's cheek with his hand. He moaned happily. How is it possible that such a gentle touch could make him of guard more than what they had done a moment ago? “I'm just not used to such a supply of emotions. It was… strong,” he said carefully as he looked at his stomach. “I should clean.”

“I'll do it,” Grantaire said as he sat down and reached for his handkerchiefs so he could wipe his hands. He got up right away. “I'll get you a wet towel.”

“Wait,” the blond stopped him. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Grantaire thought for a moment before laughing out loud and scratching his hair nervously. “Well, you know... You know, I  _ don't  _ need to.” Enjolras looked at his crotch, which showed nothing unusual. So Grantaire himself, while satisfying him—

“Oh,” Enjolras breathed as he realized.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, biting his lower lip. “Well, you're sexier than I thought you would be.” He turned and went to the bathroom. But Enjolras still saw his red ears quite clearly. Enjolras couldn't help but smile.

A month later, the Pontmercy couple held a barbecue party in their garden. They told all their friends that they would become parents in eight months. Courfeyrac immediately hug them and cried; Feuilly and Bossuet congratulated them; Jehan immediately suggested that he help them prepare the nursery; Bahorel began to talk about the fact that if life ends with marriage, then the child is a funeral, for which Musichetta painful pinch in his ribs; Joly offered to buy them a book about motherhood; and Combeferre expertly calculated that Cosette was already pregnant at the wedding.

Enjolras, who was sitting in an outdoor chair, watched it all, Grantaire snuggling on his lap. He held him by the shoulders and laughed that if they gonna have a baby girl and would look like Marius, they'd better leave her for adoption. If Grantaire hadn't curled up in a ball and Enjolras hadn't protectively hugged him, he would be slapped by Musichetta, just like Bahorel.

As the sun began to set, the temperature dropped to a hot thirty degrees, Marius ordered the compulsory entry into the pools. “So,  _ lovey dovey couple _ , are you coming too?” Courfeyrac asked, shamelessly beginning to change into a bathing suit in front of all his friends. Cosette blushed cutely, and Musichetta began to shout something about him to start behaving like a gentleman. Courfeyrac just stuck out his tongue at both of them.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire and asked, “Can I?” Grantaire just nodded.

“Can you?” Courfeyrac asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah! Your tattoo! Grantaire doesn't want to tell us anything about it, I'm pretty curious,” he said before running to the pool and jumping into it.

“Courfeyrac, you're not at the aquapark here! It's not that deep! You could have broken your nose!” Musichetta whipped as she leaned against the edge of the pool and watched Courfeyrac rubbing his nose. Fortunately, the impact on the bottom was not so strong and only rubbed off. “You are unteachable.”

“Your maternal instinct is unreal, Chetta,” Courfeyrac said as he swam up to her. “If Eagle or Joly won't have a baby with you soon, I'll be happy to take care of it myself.” He leaned over to kiss Musichetta, but she stopped him with a laugh and plunged him back into the water.

“Don’t you dare!” Joly said as he jumped up to Musichetta and wrapped his arms around her.

“A man needs to keep an eye on you all the time,” Bossuet said, kissing Musichetta on the cheek. He immediately took off his T-shirt and jumped into the pool in his summer shorts just like Courfeyrac.

“You're like little boys!” She scolded them, and Joly preferred to kiss her neck several times to reassure her.

“Come on then,” Grantaire said, holding out his hand to the blond. He helped him to his feet and went into the house with him so that he could change. He knew that it would be uncomfortable to change in front of others. They were dating for a month and he had learned much more about Enjolras than he had hoped. He thought he knew him well, but the moment the last barrier of friendship fell before them and they decided to try to be partners, a whole new world suddenly opened up for them. Enjolras let him into his world full of work, stress, school, but also evenings with popular old computer games or walks through forgotten corners of Parisian streets and parks. Grantaire, on the other hand, showed that there was much more than art and addiction; There is also room for eating sweets, boiling the best foods and a weakness for kittens of all kinds, sizes and colors. Enjolras had to pull Grantaire away from the street cats more than once so as not to try to take them home.

“Good?” Grantaire turned to Enjolras, and even though he already knew his body, he saw him several times, even in better positions and light than the hall in the house allowed him; he had to swallow loudly again as his throat went dry. Enjolras just laughed at the sound of swallowing. “I take it as a  _ yes _ .”

“Of course it’s  _ yes _ ,” Grantaire said, walking over to Enjolras, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and turning him toward the mirror next to his shoebox. “It suits you.” Enjolras smiled and began to examine his chest with his eyes. After a month, the tattoo was completed, healed and ready to show to the world. He had the outline of a wolf on his chest, where his heart had beaten - on one side the wolf was drawn in roses and magnolias, on the other in geometric shapes. He had eight small stars above each side. Each was to mark one of his closest friends. The wolf was supposed to be  _ Enjolras  _ himself - the lone wolf, who, after meeting his friends, became the alpha wolf that led his pack. Behind the wolf he had a tattooed cut cross with two large red stones. It was a sign of his family - two beloved parents - and his respect for their piety.

“It's beautiful, Grantaire,” Enjolras said as his hand touched his chest and ran his finger over the wolf's snout. He thought it would be strange to look at his reflection with a tattoo, but he got used to it quickly. The moment he looked in the mirror a few hours after the tattoo, he couldn't take his eyes off it. He kept smiling. He admitted to Grantaire two days ago that he was thinking about another one. Grantaire kissed him and cuddled with him in bed for several hours. _ I told you it was addictive _ , he laughed. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Grantaire reached for Enjolras. “Shall we go?”

Enjolras just smiled at him, accepted his hand, and together they went back to the garden to the other friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [2WNikiAngel](http://www.2wnikiangel.tumblr.com) a newly on Wattpad [Niki Angel](https://www.wattpad.com/user/2W_NikiAngel)


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